We Are The Others
by TheCorpseGarden
Summary: A series of Akatsuki oneshots. "Why don't you leave me alone before-" "Before what, my dear?" "...before I tear you apart." I hissed under my breath. Oh, but he wouldn't stand for that at all.
1. Get the Devil Out of Me

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto, but I do own the plot of this story.

**Note: This story will hold a series of oneshots, a new Akatsuki member per chapter. Each chapter will be based off a song from Delain's new album, "We Are The Others". Enjoy! **

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**Get the Devil Out of Me**

One more hit. Just one more hit. That was all I wanted from him, all I would ever ask of him; I wanted him to hit me one more time. My head was already pulsing from the last few blows, but I could take another. My wrist was surely broken, maybe even snapped in two, but I could take one more hit - _**just one more**_.

I stared at him from across the room. I took in his threatening shape as he basked in the shadows. The darkness made him fierce and brave, because he could play his sick little game of hide and seek without being seen. The light made him even worse. The light allowed him to be inwardly intimidating while appearing to be gentle - he could play easy mind games this way.

I saw his crimson eyes staring back at me, threatening me as they always did, playing with me. They traced the shape of my body, taking in each of my ailing features, along with the damage he'd effortlessly inflicted. He took a step out of the shadows and into the dim light the kitchen granted. It was hard to believe that someone so repulsive could be so ravishing. His messy black hair, his sun-kissed skin, and his slothful expression all acted as devices of deception for my mind. Because of them, I was unsure of what to feel for him; I wasn't sure what was morally correct anymore. All the logic and common sense I'd been given over my many years of living had vanished, just like his heart.

"Why don't you leave me alone before-"

"Before what, my dear?"

I nibbled on my lower lip. The tone in his voice was lethal and laced with enjoyment. Our brawls always got him excited. Why, I did not know or understand. There had been various instances in the past wherein he'd told me he despised the weak. I acknowledged greatly that I had little to no skill when it came to fighting. I was a ninja, but a failed one. He'd known this ever since we'd met, and still he pursued me. He took me as his wife, and pursued my every move, my every word, my every strike. I grit my teeth as I watched him take a few more small steps towards me.

"...before I tear you apart." I hissed under my breath.

To this, he chuckled in a dark manner. He wasn't one to get angry at petty insults from his own wife, but he wasn't one to take them either. To his understanding, wives were obedient creatures to their husbands; they weren't allowed to talk back or make any unnecessary noise. Contrary to his beliefs, I didn't choose to be a wife like that. Unfortunately for me, that made me a personal punching bag. As he approached, I braced myself. When he was right above me, I stared back into his demanding eyes with eyes of authority. For this, he struck me hard across the face. My head hit the side of the fridge, but I did my best to maintain my balance. I knew that he would win if I fell to the floor.

"Do you know what makes me treat you this way?"

His attitude was cool, but I could sense frustration in voice. I characterised him as a child when he did this; a child that was angry because he couldn't get his way. I shook my head slowly, holding a trembling hand to my reddened cheek.

"You are weak, far too weak to be treated as an equal or even as a slave."

I seethed at his words, but said and did nothing. I didn't want to hear his verbal abuse, but I knew I wouldn't be able to strike him efficiently with my lack of strength. He mocked the one thing that was the most prominent within me - weakness. I hated to admit my flaws, but it was hard to push them away when they stared you in the face every day of your life.

"You are noncompliant and surprisingly dim-witted."

He adored poking at my mistakes and my rebellion. He loved looking at how imperfect I was. He held himself highly, as if he were a true God that required the devotion of the world. I'd always believed him to be a fake God. A fake God with an incurable complex. My head cast itself to the floor, to portray that his insults were getting to me. He battled with strength and his mouth; I figured out that I was only able to battle with my thoughts.

"I'm the one mistake that you love to hate." I mumbled under my breath only loud enough so that he could faintly hear me.

He took a fistful of my black hair in his hand and yanked my head up to face him. I gasped at the sudden pain, but tried my best not show him that I was feeling any discomfort. I believed that he was angry because I'd mocked him with my constant backtalk. That's what I always did whenever we fought. It was my only weapon.

"You're correct about being a mistake."

He slammed my head hard against the cupboard behind me. I felt dizzy, as if my body was getting ready to pass out. He was only a blurry outline before me for a few long moments until my proper vision returned. I noted that I'd made him playfully angry instead of angry - there was a big difference. When he was playfully angry, the physical pain wasn't as bad.

He leaned his face closer to mine and captured my panting lips with a hungry kiss. I didn't dare kiss back. Everything was going too fast for me, and I was too angry and disoriented for anything that involved lust. When he pulled back, he had an almost deranged look on his face. I knew the expression all too well.

"But you're not hated, my dear. In fact..."

His mood changes killed me. I was never sure what to expect from him. His facial expressions rarely changed drastically, and his body movements never suggested anything but strain and fury. I didn't know what came next until it actually came.

He whipped around and strode back to where he came, this time with my hair in his grasp. He dragged me along like a rag doll, back into the shadows. I felt as though I was being pulled into a dark abyss, never to return. I wondered if I'd crossed the line, but knew I hadn't at the back of my mind. At the back of my mind, I knew I hadn't _**fatally**_ crossed the line. My head was still aching from the several times it had taken a hit, but all that mattered was him - In my mind _and _in his. My mistakes would cost me something once again.

"It always ends the same way..." I whispered.

As always, I wanted to be strong on the inside. I didn't want to show him I was scared or hurt. I wanted to be the kind of person that he was - one with no emotion or worry for anything. I choked back a sob and felt something painful rise from the pit of my stomach. There were wet tears dotting my eyes, tears I'd held in for what seemed like decades. He wasn't facing me, but he knew my pain.

"Better to have you in tears than not to have you at all." He laughed sickly.

I felt the urge to scream at him, to bite him, to kick him to his knees. When we got to the bedroom, he tossed me carelessly on the bed and slammed the door behind him. Unlike the savage beast everyone took him for, he didn't climb on top of me straight away. He merely smirked at my helpless form, taking in every little detail of my body. He let his hand move to where my shirt was, tearing it off quickly along with my jeans right after. I was vulnerable with only thin pieces of fabric protecting me. All I could do was brace myself, just like I always did.

"You bitch that I'm abusive."

He pulled his long black cloak over his head and tossed to the floor.

"You bitch that I neglect you and your trivial needs."

He slid his black pants to his ankles and kicked them off. Finally, he got on top of me, forcing my shoulders against the bed so I wouldn't be able to resist. The sudden pressure against my arm made my broken wrist tinge, and I winced. He leaned close to me and captured my lips once again. It was a quick kiss, but it felt like it lasted for hours. He slid down my blue panties and ripped off my blue bra, pulling back from my face to take a good look. I felt uncomfortable with myself as he gazed, feeling that he would next verbally attack the way I looked. He didn't. He only placed two firm hands against each of my breasts and gave me a look of triumph. Oh, how he adored winning.

"If I'm so bad," He chuckled threateningly. "...then why don't you get the devil out of me?"

It was then that Madara Uchiha, the Beelzebub of my world, made me scream.

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**Authoresses' Note:**

**This is a special fic I wrote for a friend of mine. I hope you enjoy this, friend ;P**

**Reviews are strongly welcomed; I'd love to hear how I did! Thanks!**


	2. Where is the Blood?

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto, but I do own the plot of this story.

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**Where is the blood?**

There he was again, at his work desk, tinkering with lifeless pieces of nothing that stared up at him with plastic eyes of doom. He never stopped striving to achieve perfection within everything he touched. He never stopped carving, never stopped cutting. His red hair was messy all the time due to lack of maintenance but he didn't have a care in the world; the world and its contents were just an imperfect pile of nothing to him.

I heard from his partner that he'd begun to act strangely when his body was altered from wood to flesh, one fateful afternoon. After that, he appeared to be distorted and in disbelief - he had difficulty believing that he was unable to be ever flawless. Humans had thousands of revolting errors. Try as he may, he was powerless to reverse the effects on his body and become as he'd made himself. For the first time in his adult life, he was absolutely thwarted. He ventured out each day in attempts to find subjects to work with, subjects to create. I was among those subjects. He'd spotted me in the woods during my training and easily snatched me up from behind. Though, instead of constructing me into a sick version of art, he'd decided to keep me as a living doll. He desired someone with enough obedience to serve him, and found great, twisted amusement in 'educating' me to heed his commands.

In complete truth, I wasn't quite 'broken' yet. I'd stopped myself from going insane by complying as much as I had to from time to time. I often argued with him, and threatened him. I told him I hated him and that I wanted to be free. Being as selfish and sadistic as he was, he took everything I said as pointless banter. He often called me unruly and stupid, claiming that I didn't have the sense to understand what he was trying to accomplish. I didn't care what he was trying to accomplish, and I hoped he knew that. All I cared about was getting away from him and going back to where I belonged.

Day by day, he dressed me up like I was his doll, taking his time to perfect every detail of the outfit and my physical appearence. He often fitted me into a black and white corset-like dress that went down only to my upper thighs. Every outfit he forced onto my body was utterly revealing, but out of every single one of them, I hated that one the most. Why? Well, because he liked it the most. I was happy as long as he was not. I hated everything he loved. I didn't care to be anything like what he was.

When he did his work, he bound me tightly from behind by my wrists, and instructed me to stay on his bed until he was finished. I'd tried various times to sneak out of the room, but I didn't get anywhere. He had ears like a hawk despite his close concentration. He punished me quickly, within the blink of an eye, and then resumed whatever bullshit he was doing.

Now, I sat on his bed as usual, watching him intently, burning holes through him with my furious eyes. He was working on something strange, a puppet that had a face. The many times I'd watched him work every other creation had been faceless and horrible-looking. I found it peculiar that he'd had a sudden urge to create something that was more than wood, something that had blooming features.

I watched him for the longest time, oddly interested in his change of artistic preference. When he finally ceased, I was almost disappointed. He rose from his chair and flicked off the light on the table. I was exhausted and fidgety, but I stayed as alert as I could, ready for anything. We basked silently in the darkness of the room for a long time before he moved towards me. I heard his footsteps press lightly against the floorboards. The fact that I could hear him and only faintly make him out made my bones chill. He stood over me for only a few moments before gently stroking my face. The way he touched me was almost through affection, but I knew better than to believe it was. I jerked away in disgust. In retaliation, he grabbed my chin and made me stare at him. Even in the thick darkness, I could make out his distinctive features. His lips played a small smirk, and his auburn eyes lit up with delight. I think he liked me and my attitude because it was interesting to deal with something that had life to it - it was interesting to _**play**_ with life.

"Undeniably yours." I spat with venomous sarcasm.

He chuckled in a way that sent chills down my spine. It was sinister yet full of exhilaration; he was in a good mood. He leaned his head closer to mine. I didn't like how attractive he was on the outside and how rotten he was on the inside; it was so deceptive. His lips quickly reached my neck and placed themselves onto the exposed skin. He pecked it lightly a few times before sucking on it. I tensed my body and shut my eyes in anger. I didn't like how he dared to do these things to me. I detested the lack of control I had. He pulled away from my neck after he'd left his mark, having his hand then return to my face.

"If I hurt you so much..." His lips hovered close to mine. "...where's the fucking blood?" He hissed.

He wasted no time climbing on top of me, pressing his strong hands against my shoulders to keep me down. My wrists burned with the extra weight on them, but I gritted my teeth and bore it. He pressed his greedy lips against mine, and I unintentionally parted my lips. His hands wandered to my curves, rubbing them softly, and I could feel how attractive I was to him through his pants. From my curves, they went to my breasts, cupping them and squeezing them tenderly. I wanted to kick him away, but the last time I'd done something that foolish, I'd ended up beaten_** and**_ raped. When his lips finally divided from mine, he took a moment to gaze at my frightened expression. He loved to watch me fear him, loved to watch me quiver under his touch. I stared back at him, feeling rage mixed with horror deep within. I'd always believed that he would kill me after he had his fun with me one night; that was a terror that didn't just dissolve. He was vicious and egotistical; he didn't care for anyone but himself. His desires and his art were the only things that brought concern to his mind. Everything else was nothing but an ant colony beneath his boot.

"Why do I pay for your pain...?" I whispered, almost expecting an answer.

It seemed that he used my body as a scapegoat, a scapegoat from his losses. He drowned his constant sorrow and regret within me - always me.

His eyes wavered for a moment, as if he actually cared about how I felt, as if he actually wanted to answer me. His smirk twitched at the corners of his mouth, growing crueller. He removed one hand from my breast to stroke my soft cheek. He treated me as though I was a child that knew nothing, an ignorant being. His strokes got rougher as the seconds passed, and it got to the point wherein I truly felt that he would hit me. I'd stricken a nerve within him, or perhaps he didn't like it when I spoke. Either way, he was angry, and it was my doing.

"You'd look so beautiful sitting on my shelf." He mumbled, eyes tracing my facial features. "You'd be immortal; mine for eternity."

How he was talking scared me the most. His tone was cold and sadistic, yet his expression remained cruel and playful. I didn't know what he was going to do, but all I wanted was for him to get off of me.

His hand whipped away from my cheek and went back to my breast, rubbing it through the thin fabric. He tugged the cup of the corset down to reveal a pink nipple. I held my breath as he placed a finger on it and rolled it around slowly. The sensation was amazing, but my fear had taken over most of my mind. I wondered if tonight would be the night he did his dastardly deed. I wondered if tonight I'd lose my sanity. I tried not to cry, but it was hard not to. I was worried and my stomach felt sick. It felt as though it would soon be my time to die.

"You're horrible." I managed to choke out.

He slapped me, and my tears finally started to fall. The pain outside and the agony on the inside were completely unbearable. I didn't make a big scene. I didn't sob. I merely allowed salty tears to slide from my eyes. He seemed more than content with this, though he was still visibly angry.

"Dolls have nothing to say to their masters." He growled.

He liked control, and he liked when his controlling responses resulted in the vast showing of emotion. It was a favourite past time of his to make people feel like zilch. I stopped myself from complying to his wishes and apologizing. I said nothing at all, even as he slid off my panties and slipped his manhood out from his pants. There were still tears, and I had a pathetic look on my face, but I didn't want to submit to him until I had no other options. He positioned himself as my opening, spreading my legs just enough so that he could fit snuggly between them. He didn't care if I was in pain, he didn't care if I was ready to take him. He forced himself inside me and made us both feel good for an instance that night.

When he was done, he took himself out of me and forced his way into my mouth. I did my best to suck off the juices that stuck to his flesh, and that was that. I was back to being scared. I classified myself as a nervous whore. I only expected the worst. I ignored the pain between my legs and focussed every bit of my attention on him as he got off of me. I watched him pull his pants back up and re-button his cloak. I watched him watch me as he made his way around to the other side of the bed. He laid himself down quickly, his body unmoving, facing the ceiling. We stayed like that for a long time, the only noise in the room my heavy panting.

I considered making a break for the door. I considered making a break for his work bench, grabbing something sharp, and impaling him. I did neither. I couldn't do either. My hands were still tied and I was too sore to even think about running. Instead, I turned over so I was still facing him and tried to stay awake long enough to see him make his move on me. I wanted to be ready when he did. I wanted to rebel and reject him. I desired deeply to show him that I would not be his little doll. I wanted to show him that life on a shelf wasn't for me. He noticed my eyes on him, and finally turned his eyes to me as well. I could tell that he knew why I was watching him, and I could tell it amused him.

I almost rolled off the bed when he made a sudden arm movement to cup my face. Oh, how he loved touching my face. He gripped it tightly, almost painfully.

"I won't kill you..." He said with little to no emotion. "...If you're a good girl."

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**Authoresses' Note:**

**So which member would you readers like to have a story about next?  
**

**Judging by a few follows of this story and two reviews, I'm assuming I'm doing well...?  
**

**So please, do review. It'd be very polite and not-lazy of you. I'd appreciate it very much!  
**

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. Babylon

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or Delain's song (Babylon), but I do own the plot of this story.

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**Babylon**

Every man has his secrets. Yes, indeed; that's true. The purest of men have their fetishes and poisons, just as the cruelest of men have their sadistic intentions. Is it not terrifying to believe that a man walking next to you on the streets and a man you sit next to at a bar have these secretive, horrible intentions? Is it unrealistic to think that you might be within his thoughts? That you, an innocent girl, may swim within his mind as he undresses you and has his way with you through his thoughts. Is this unrealistic to believe?

I once thought it was. I, at one time, hadn't thought of the possible horrid intentions of strangers - of men. I'd once had a view of a colourful world filled with people that only wanted friendship and love. Of course, you see, I had been grimly mistaken with that notion, and I ended up learning the hard way.

I made a fatal slip into the hands of a purely psychotic man that was sex-obsessed and bloodthirsty. A man that was simply gorgeous on the outside, but absolutely rotten on the inside. Yet I hadn't thought anything of his inner intentions when I'd met him one night at a bar. I hadn't thought of the things he may have wanted to do to me, and I paid dearly for it. He led me out of the bar with a graceful hand; a hand he'd most likely used for vile things in the past. He led me deep into the forest until we neared a grand clearing. It was then that he knocked me out, grinning mercilessly as I hit the ground.

When I came to I was naked and hanging with chains around my wrists and neck against a cold slab of rock. I immediately tried to scan my surroundings, but was met with only vast darkness - darkness and the eerie sound of dripping water. The air was cool, so I deduced that I was underground somewhere, or in some sort of cave. I heard chuckling somewhere in front of me, startling me and making me struggle to free myself from my chains. One by one, candles around me on the walls began to light themselves. It felt like I was watching some kind of ghastly magic show. I took the chance to glance back and forth when there was enough light to see. I instantly wished for darkness again.

There were four other girls hanging on stone slab, just as I was. All of them appeared to be alive but they were bloody from head to toe, and there were various gashes all over their bodies. Sickness welled up in my stomach as I thought of the horrors the girls had to see, the pain they had to endure. I wriggled from side to side in my bindings, willing the chains to somehow break and give me freedom. My breathing was rough and ragged, and my body bore goose bumps all over it. I heard the horrible sound of metal against concrete sliding towards me, and felt my heart rate accelerate. I was tearing and nearly wetting myself, sweating and already whispering for mercy.

It was at that point that I realized the world wasn't as amazing as I'd made it out to be. I finally came to realize that the nicest looking people were the sickest criminals. Only, it was too late.

He appeared before me again, the same man from the bar. His once slicked back silver hair was now messy, and his albino eyes were wide with excitement. He bore an Akatsuki cloak that showed off his well-toned chest, but the triple-bladed scythe was what startled me the most. He advanced on me without a moment's hesitation, sliding the weapon across the ground in an intimidating manner. I cried out in fear at that moment, struggling with all my strength to release myself from the chains, twisting my body from side to side furiously. The restraints only jingled mockingly, telling me that I was doomed.

When he was close enough to me, he raised the scythe up to my chest, placing the longest blade just above my nipple. I didn't dare move, then. He flicked his wrist ever so slightly and the blade pressed its cold face against my bud. I was worried for myself, worried for my poor breasts. The blade felt as though it had been sharpened only a short time ago, so it was all the more deadly. I was sweating furiously, unsure of how psychotic he really was, unsure of whether he would take a piece of me away. He seemed to be amused by my reaction, expressing this with a terrible grin. He withdrew the weapon and dropped it by his feet. I was only relieved until he produced a black pike from his cloak. I whimpered and let my tears flow wildly. I was far too frightened to even form coherent words.

He touched the tip of the pike against my bare stomach and slid it down to where my vagina was, stopping several inches away from my opening. There, he made his first cut. He stuck the weapon's tip into my flesh and began to slowly draw a circle. I screamed in agony and shock and tried to move away, but he held me in place. Once he'd finished the circle, he drew an upside down triangle in the middle of it. Even after he brought the pike away from my skin, I continued to wail. I managed to kick at him as an act of retaliation. In return, he gave me a hard slap across the face. My head made a harsh impact with the stone behind it, and then came the throbbing.

"Fucking whore!" He spat. "Shut your fucking mouth before I fill it myself!" His tone was callous and frosty, enough to make me simmer down. I tried to pretend that I didn't know what he meant by filling my mouth, but I knew. Oh yes, I knew. He hastily touched the symbol he'd carved into my body and looked at me with a satisfied smirk.

"You're an ungrateful slut, aren't you?" A rhetorical question, of course. "You have Lord Jashin's symbol on your filthy little body. You should be thanking me for such a fucking honour."

I was aware of who Jashin was from philosophy books I'd read on religion. I was aware of how dangerous His followers were, and this only heightened my fear. I took another look around the room at the other girls. I noticed that neither of them had a visible symbol carved into them and wondered why. They bore gashes in many places, but nothing symbolic. For only an instant, I considered myself a twisted sort of 'special'.

The crazed Jashinist grabbed my chin and jerked my head to face him. This told me that he didn't like people not paying attention to him. He inspected my face with a growing grin, but appeared to like my body better. I watched as his eyes focused on my breasts, lust growing rapidly in his gaze.

"I'm going to enjoy tearing up your body... and fucking you." I didn't like his ideas of pleasure or fun. I enjoyed the thought of general sex, but I didn't think I'd enjoy it when it involved my life being in danger.

With that, he reached up to the chains that bound my wrists and undid them along with the collar. I had the thought in mind of making a run for it, but I didn't get the chance to act on it. As soon as I was dropped from my prison, he turned me around and slammed me face-first into the slab. My cheek and hands pressed hard against the surface, he slipped his dick out of his pants and pressed the tip of it against my ass. I squirmed in fear, but his strong hand wouldn't let me escape. He pressed his free hand against my pussy, rubbing my sensitive bud.

"You're a gift from Lord Jashin." He whispered darkly into my ear. "Your body is mine until I fucking get sick of it."

On that note, he whipped his hand away from my clit and thrust himself into my back hole. The time he took to finish himself off felt like agonizing hours; the pain just didn't let up. I felt my body begin to respond to his touch as he caressed my breasts tenderly, pulling and twisting my nipples. I wept and groaned in anguish until he was done, closing my eyes to think of better things. When he pulled out of me for the first time, he'd spent himself in my ass. Of course, only releasing once wasn't good enough to satisfy his animalistic needs. To get himself erect once again, he carved more shallow symbols into my ass cheeks, giving them a few good smacks as he did so, adding to the humiliation. Again and again, pain neurons fired nonstop through my body. I felt as though I would go crazy from the ache and the new feeling of sudden arousal. In what seemed like no time, he was ready to cause me even more torture; he'd managed to get himself off by inflicting pain upon me.

He slid the tip of his dick up and down my slit, teasing me by just slipping the very tip in. I felt my body heat up and desire flow throughout. I didn't like the idea of a murderous criminal having his way with me but my body clearly knew that it was being stimulated, and it wanted more. He gathered some of the blood from the fresh carvings and slid it along his length as a lubricant. I felt my inner muscles tighten as I felt his moistened cock at my entrance. Gentler than the previous time, he slipped his manhood into me. It was a tight fit and I definitely felt a small bit of pain, but it was much better than the anal he'd subjected me to.

He wasted no time in beginning to thrust. He slid his length out of me completely, only to slam it all the way back in. I hollered with excitement and frustration. I was angry that my body was responding sensually to my rapist, angry that he knew how to please women. The pleasure he inflicted upon me overpowered my fear.

I raked my nails roughly down the stone slab and tried my best not to let out any cries of fulfilment. It was difficult, but I managed to bit my lip rather than moan. His thrusts got harder and harder, and it felt as though he were going deeper and deeper. He panted hard behind me, but I could feel his sadistic grin shining proudly against my back. He got off by the degradation and the domination; he got off by forcefully fucking me. I felt myself reaching the brink of pleasure and whimpered as I tightened around his moving penis. I came hard, much harder than I'd wanted to. He knew it, and I knew he'd always know it. He knew he would always give me a sick kind of pleasure and a horrendously beautiful release.

He removed himself from me fully, grabbed me by the hair, and turned me around. Throwing me painfully to my hands and knees, he yanked on my hair to be sure I was facing his dick. He placed it at my semi-parted lips, pumping it vigorously in his hand. With a few final grunts, he squirted his hot semen into my dry mouth.

"You'd better drink it all, slut." He muttered, watching me take his load.

I didn't disobey, but I didn't like obeying either. I did my best not to choke on the large sample of cum, swallowing it little by little. The taste was salty and rather unpleasant. By accident, I let some flow past my lips and onto the floor. Another little bit skimmed past my lips and slid slowly down my body. I swallowed the last bit of the load almost triumphantly; I was content that I'd managed to stomach something I didn't have a taste for. At the back of my mind, though, I knew I'd develop a taste for cum after a while of being in the albino Akatsuki's possession. Not giving me even an instant to relax, the crazed Jashinist forced my head to the ground, right where I'd let his clear fluid drop.

"Lick it off the fucking floor, bitch! I told you to swallow every fucking drop."

I pressed my tongue against the floor to avoid my teeth getting broken from his forceful hand. There was something utterly disgusting and degrading about doing what I was doing, but I knew that I'd better try to get used to it. I ran my tongue across the hard floor and collected nothing but the semen he'd left for me, making sure to collect every last drop. The salty mix of my tears and the salty mix of his cum, I found, were not a good combination. He held my head to the ground a little while longer to be sure that I hadn't missed anything. Finally allowing me to rise, he let me pick myself up. From there and with little struggling from my exhausted self, he re-chained me to the stone slab with relative ease. I hung there with my head lowered, trying not to doze off or cry anymore. I was upset, tired, and scared for my future. I didn't know what he would do to me next, and I wasn't even sure if he was going to kill me.

He moved close to my exposed body and pressed his own against it. Curling his devilish tongue around my ear, he chuckled darkly.

"Hidan." He whispered. "It'll be the last name you ever fucking scream."

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**Authoresses' Note**

**This one was a request from an anonymous reviewer than often reviews my on my stuff (including this story). I'm sure you know who you are, and I really thank you for being so polite and taking the time to review :) I hope you enjoyed this.**

**I hope all you other readers enjoyed this too. If anyone has any ideas for...**

**A) Which member to do next and,**

**B) A general or broad idea of what should happen in the next chapter**

**...please feel free to review or message me personally, though all reviews are welcomed and appreciated!**


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